To get through a heartache after the sudden breakup, Arabella moves to New York City to start another chapter of her life.
Driven by the hope to make Adrian Castle, the man who left her broken to pieces with an excuse of protecting her against his w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I should've known better that coming here was a big, amateur mistake. But no room for regrets because at least I get to see Arabella for the last time. So I sit at the dining table, savoring the picture-perfect American dream unfolding before me as a beautiful woman my heart has ever met serves me food like a family man I'll never get to be.
It's an elusive haven; I was raised too differently to imagine such a scenario even in my wildest dreams. But today, right now, it occurs to me that I may like the feeling it evokes, even an ounce of it regardless of how foreign it is. So I keep looking at her, even when she doesn't look back, and when she does look back, my muscles tauten as retribution.
An inextinguishable fire burns through Arabella's eyes, and the more I look, the more I ignite. I want to glance the other way, or maybe... just at her and nowhere else, to just be with her. But there can't be us with all the lies and secrets and the dreadful past that connects us vicariously in one way or another—the only hidden truth she's crafted to never find out.
Arabella and me, we're bound to blood lust which ought to be prevented while we still can. She and I were never meant to cross paths no matter how many times I tried to ignore the fact. It's okay to be hurting now than later, for if she knows who I truly am, the things I've done, she'll hate herself more than she'd do me. I do want to protect her against my world, but more than that, I must protect her against me.
"So," Camilla breaks the silence, "I guess you're leaving today?" She looks at me while taking a bowl of deliciously-looking potatoes.
Everything looks exquisite. Truthfully, my little rebel knows her way around the kitchen.
"In two hours," I reply. "I'm afraid you're gonna be on a long sabbatical this time. Rest yourself and enjoy the summer; you deserve a break."
She puts the bowl down. Arabella doesn't; she keeps shoving the green salsa into her sister's plate absentmindedly, seemingly cold and distant and lost, her face blanched and ashen.
"Enough, Ara. I hate salads," Isla pleads. But Arabella doesn't respond. "Ara, I don't want that!" she repeats.
A furrow deepens on my face. Can she hear anything?
"Ara?" Camilla calls loudly and catches Arabella's attention at last. "That's too much even for me, have mercy on the little missy."
Looking at the plate, Arabella snaps instantly, "Sorry." She grabs another plate and repairs the damage.
I study her for a firm, short while but say nothing. Although I know she's a strong and assiduous person, I still am curious, and concerned, about what's going on inside that enraged head of hers. She can be vengeful and inflexible, but how long will it take for her to be the old Arabella full of life? The time before she met me.
"How long will it take, my sabbatical?" Camilla asks, derailing the long train of thoughts I've been hopped on since I walked into these walls.
"As long as it rakes," I reply simply, and it's the first time I'm giving her no explanation about my trip.
